Shelagh bid goodbye to the last patient and locked the main surgery door. Patrick was finishing up some paperwork, and then they'd make the short walk home together.
She sat in one of the chairs along the wall with two items in her hands: a child's drawing, and a brown paper envelope with the top seam ripped.
After a few moments, the door to the doctor's office opened. "What a day we've had," Patrick said with a weary sigh. But he was smiling. She took that as a sign. She had to tell him today.
Patrick sat beside her, his long legs stretched out and his arms crossed over his chest.
"I forgot to give you this." She passed him the drawing. "Angela drew it. It's a family portrait, or so I'm told."
"Is that supposed to be me?" He pointed to the long scribble of brown and black and cringed. Shelagh giggled and nodded.
"And you. And Timothy and Angela," her husband said, pointing to each bunch of colors in turn. He chuckled. "Looks like we have a budding artist in the family. What's that?" He nodded toward the envelope in Shelagh's hand.
She paused, unsure of where to begin. "Some test results," she said finally and passed the envelope to him.
Patrick turned it over. "This has your name on it." He looked at her, his face gray.
"Oh no, Patrick," she gasped. "It's nothing like that. It's – it's good, I hope."
His eyebrows drew together in a frown but he opened the envelope and took out the sheet of paper inside. Shelagh looked away, unable to watch.
"I'd been feeling unwell for a while. I thought I had the flu." Or TB again, she thought. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you about the test. I didn't want you to worry."
She stole a glance at her husband's profile. His eyes were wide, but beyond that she'd couldn't tell whether he felt terrified, ecstatic or was just in shock.
"How far along?" he rasped.
She shrugged. "Eight or nine weeks, I would guess. But I'll need a proper examination."
He shook his head, his brow furrowed. "But – are you sure?"
Shelagh felt her heart sink. In the back of her mind, she'd always thought that Patrick would be over-the-moon if she ever fell pregnant. She hadn't thought he'd be disappointed.
"I suppose I could have another test done," she stammered. "But all that would do is prove it."
"No, of course – I don't know what I was saying," Patrick said, with a short bark of laughter. He still wore the same gobsmacked look, his fingers clutching the edges of the paper. She couldn't stand not to know what he was thinking.
Shelagh grasped his hand. "Patrick."
"A baby," he murmured, his voice full of wonder. He turned to her, his eyes dark and glittering, and Shelagh felt a familiar sense of breathless joy. His mouth turned up in a tremulous smile. "Oh, Shelagh."
He tugged her into his arms and held her for a long moment. Shelagh clung to him and cried, half-relieved.
"We never talked about this," she sobbed.
"We didn't think it was possible," Patrick said with a warm chuckle. He pulled back, peered at her face and frowned. "Shelagh…are you glad?"
She was; that had been her first raw emotion when she'd opened the letter – unmistakable gladness. "Yes," Shelagh said, taking a moment to wipe her eyes with the corner of her nurse's apron. "But Patrick, I'm worried. What if something goes wrong? I don't think I could bear it if –" She didn't want to say the word. She knew the risks and the potential for loss. "I'm scared to hope too much."
Patrick took both her hands in his. "You'll have an examination. You'll have the best care. We can even go back to Dr. Horringer if you want. I won't let anything happen to you or our baby. You know everyone at Nonnatus would do the same."
She nodded, taking brief comfort in his words, his certainty. "I know. But I don't want to be wrapped in cotton wool either, Patrick," she said, her lips pursed. "I'm still capable of seeing patients and going on rounds. Besides, if I sat at home I'd only worry." Even now, she could imagine the disorganization at the surgery and Patrick exhausted. She'd be too busy caring for a newborn, a three-year-old and a teenager to help. They'd be lucky to ever see each other, much less work together.
Patrick grinned. "If you sat at home, I'd worry. And I don't think the surgery would manage very long without you." He raised one of her hands to his lips and pressed a kiss to her knuckles. "But no more night shifts for a while, all right?"
Shelagh nodded. "No night shifts. There will be plenty of those later." She rested her free hand on her abdomen, and the enormity of her situation hit her again. So much would have to change.
"What is it?" Patrick asked, noticing her frown.
"I am happy, Patrick." She sighed. "But the surgery is doing so well. We could do so much good here."
"We still can. We still will." Patrick tilted his head and gazed at her with that fond smile she loved. "You don't have to give up nursing, Shelagh, even after the baby comes unless you want to. We found a way with Angela. We can find a way with this child."
He'd gotten right to the heart of her concerns; he shared them. "We always are at our best together," Shelagh said with a smile.
Patrick waggled his eyebrows and glanced significantly at her abdomen. "Absolutely."
"Patrick," she admonished, blushing. He laughed.
"We should tell the children soon," Shelagh continued. "Timothy's already suspicious, and I don't want him to fret."
Patrick picked up the drawing at his side. "Angela will have to add to her family portrait."
"Already done, dearest." Shelagh pointed to the small smudge of pink at the end of the row. "Baby."